


Vinny has some hope

by youcouldmakealife



Series: Vinny gets a life [15]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-11
Updated: 2015-08-11
Packaged: 2018-04-14 05:33:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4552569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcouldmakealife/pseuds/youcouldmakealife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thomas isn’t complaining or anything. It’s better than it was. Whatever Bovard said, Connors took it seriously, and by all appearances they’re fine.</p><p>Thomas stops 39 of 40 his next game, is the game’s first star in a tight 2-1 win, and he thinks Connors is going to put his fist through a wall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vinny has some hope

**Author's Note:**

> Warning at the end.

Thomas doesn’t know what he’s expecting Connors to act like the next time he sees him. Doesn’t even know if Bovard’s talked to him, but if he has, it hasn’t changed much. It’s pretty much the same as before, but at least it’s on the ignoring his existence side and not the telling him how bad he plays side.

Anton’s been giving him weird looks, too, which isn’t helpful, because Thomas really has no way to duck them, and if Anton’s going to ask -- and a year ago Thomas would have bet on him leaving it alone, but not anymore -- then Thomas has no chance of avoiding it. They sit together on the plane and the bus, they share a room on the road, they share a house at home. Beyond how dumb it was of Thomas to let all this happen considering how he feels about Anton, it’s extra dumb because now any chance of escape is gone.

But Anton doesn’t ask, for now at least, and when they go on the next roadtrip Connors walks up to Thomas’ table at breakfast.

“Can I sit here?” he asks.

Beside Thomas, Anton blinks. 

“Sure,” Thomas says, before Anton can say anything, and Connors takes a seat across from him. Thomas can see Anton giving him a meaningful look in his peripheral, but ignores it in favour of his breakfast. It’s a good thing Denisovich joins them and starts talking to Anton, the taffy slow Russian he seems to only speak when Anton’s around, unlike the rapidfire stuff he says to the other Russian speaking players. Thomas doesn’t know if Anton’s noticed that, but if he hasn’t, Thomas doesn’t want to be the one to tell him. He’d probably be offended, but Thomas thinks it’s nice of Denisovich, making sure Anton understands him. Anton answers him, staccato. In English he usually talks slow, and never seems at a loss for words when he is speaking, which isn’t that often, but in Russian Thomas can hear the pauses, the burst of a sentence then a lag, like his mouth can’t keep up with his brain. He wonders if he’s different in French, in Anton’s eyes.

Which obviously Anton would never think about because it’s the sort of ridiculous, stricken thought that leads to you smiling goofily at the guy beside you instead of eating your breakfast.

Connors doesn’t say much, and neither does Thomas, both of them basically pretending they’re interested in Anton and Denisovich’s conversation, which is unlikely, because Thomas doesn’t think Connors speaks any more Russian than Thomas does. But at the end of breakfast Connors gets up, nodding to him, and Thomas nods tentatively back.

“That was fucking weird,” Anton says on their way to get their bags.

“Kinda,” Thomas says, but he wants to give Bovard a hug the next time he sees him. 

It’s not like things are suddenly fixed. Fourns is right — Connors is never going to like him, and Thomas is just going to have hurt feelings if he doesn’t remember that fact. It’s not like Thomas is dying to be his friend right now either. He doesn’t hold a grudge, and if Connors tried he’d try too, but Connors doesn’t, really. He sits with him sometimes, but they don’t really talk to each other. He’ll pull Thomas into broader conversations in the room. The kind of stuff that every guy on the roster sees, and Thomas isn’t cynical, but that’s exactly why he does it. The goalies are clearly getting along, look, they’re eating together!

Thomas isn’t complaining or anything. It’s better than it was. Whatever Bovard said, Connors took it seriously, and by all appearances they’re fine.

Thomas stops 39 of 40 his next game, is the game’s first star in a tight 2-1 win, and he thinks Connors is going to put his fist through a wall. 

Thomas is still glowing with it, because it was the Rangers, who are having a great year. He got the goalie procession at the end of the game, everyone tapping his helmet, Carmen spinning him around, Bovard patting his helmet, Connors heading up the end of the line with a mumbled ‘good game’, but with the wrinkled nose of someone who’s about to say something mean. Usually Thomas sees it right before someone snooty says something about how Hamilton smells. He doesn’t say anything though, not on the ice, and not in the room after. 

He probably wants to say something about how he would have played better than Thomas did, but he wouldn’t have. That’s not Thomas being arrogant or anything, just that everyone is pretty much agreed the goal wasn’t on him. He made the initial save, and then there were a couple weird bounces, and it went off Depardieu’s skate and into a wide empty net that was only wide because Thomas was where the puck initially went. Depardieu’s already apologised to him twice for ruining a shut out, though he obviously didn’t mean for it to happen, and it’s not like it was a guarantee or anything. Maybe if he’d stopped that one he would have gotten cocky and let in two others. It’s impossible to know.

A bunch of the guys are hanging around, close enough that Connors can’t say anything, and Thomas is totally fine like that. It’s not like he wants Connors to say something mean. And it gives Connors time to think about some way to insult him, but honestly, it was a huge win against a good team, since they had the unfortunate luck of back to backs against Boston and New York. Connors won his too.

“Drinks?” Bovard asks, and then to a murmur of positive response. “Drinks! Vinny, first one’s on me.”

“Shot for every shot you saved!” Carmen says.

“We’re not trying to kill him,” Bovard says. 

“Every shot you saved,” Carmen mouths at Thomas.

Thomas laughs at him.

Huntley knows a bar from his time with the Rangers that he suggests, and Bovard wanders off to call and see if they’d all fit. Everyone else has sped up a little in the getting dressed thing, because once Bovard’s ready to go they better all be, everyone knows that much, so everyone’s gone back to their own spots in the room.

Thomas is still mostly dressed, so he’d better hurry up. Bovard might cut him a little slack, comparatively, but he doesn’t want to hold everyone up.

“They shouldn’t have given a backup that fucking game,” Connors says, low.

Thomas would usually ignore him, he knows he should, especially because he has to jump in the shower, but honestly, he’s playing half the games he did last season, and he killed it tonight. He laughs incredulously. “What, you’re going to play back-to-backs?” Even if a goalie wants to, management’s smart enough not to run a goaltender into the ground before the season’s over.

“They gave you the better team,” Connors snaps.

Thomas blinks. “They gave you the rival,” he says. “They weren’t going to put me in against Boston.”

“The Rangers are better than the Bruins,” Connors says.

“Yeah, but the entire city of Montreal doesn’t hate the Rangers,” Thomas says. “They gave you the rival. I don’t know what you want me to tell you. You got the can’t lose game.”

Connors is quiet, but he looks slightly less furious, so Thomas will take that as a win, he guesses.

Connors even offers to buy him a shot at the bar after. It’s probably also for the guys around more than it’s a genuine thing, but honestly, Thomas doesn’t care. He scoots the shot over to Anton though, because after the first one from Bovard, he just wants to drink beer. A shot for every goal he let in, not every shot he saved. Mostly because he’d die.

Thomas is loose when they get back to the room, no more. Anton’s a little tipsy, and that’s probably Thomas’ fault, considering he’d fed him free drinks, but if Anton hadn’t taken them, someone else would’ve. 

Thomas sprawls on his bed, feeling closer to normal than he has in -- awhile, honestly. There are a couple of things that tug on that, threaten to pull him down. The fact that he hasn’t been used much this season, and that’s not going to change unless Connors starts to lose, bad, which he obviously doesn’t want, because the team’s record is more important than how many of the games he’s played. The fact that Connors may be playing nice but is going to get pissed every time Thomas plays, whether he plays well or he doesn’t, which is going to put a damper on it no matter how much he tries to brush it off. The fact that if he wanted to talk about it with one of the guys -- he doesn’t, but if he did -- they’d think he was exaggerating it, because they look like they get along just fine.

He’s got Fourns, at least. Last time Fourns called his back up a potato. Thomas doesn’t really know what being a potato means, but he bets it’s not very nice. He doesn’t think Fourns ever called him a potato, though. Definitely not to his face, and probably not behind his back either. If Fourns thought he was a potato he probably wouldn’t have invited him over so much, or kept in touch after he moved.

Maybe Thomas is a little tipsy too. He hasn’t been drinking much, lately. 

“You did really good, Vin,” Anton tells him, unprompted, from the other bed.

Thomas turns his head to grin at him. Anton’s on his belly, face smushed into his pillow, but Thomas can see enough of his face to catch the grin back. 

“You helped,” Thomas says.

“Enh, minus one in a game like that,” Anton says.

It may have gone off Depardieu, but the Rangers were completely relentless, and Thomas thinks there were at least half as many shots blocked as shots that reached him, and Anton and Depardieu were paired against the top line. 

“If you get to compliment me I get to compliment you,” Thomas says.

“You deserve it, though,” Anton says. 

Thomas’ cheeks heat, and he rolls over, buries his face in the pillows like Anton. “Shut up,” he mumbles.

“You do,” Anton says. “Eat your fucking heart out, Jeff Connors.”

Thomas should have figured he’d have picked up on it anyway. He chucks his phone at Anton’s head.

“Ow,” Anton says, and then, “ooh, you have any sexts?”

“You know I don’t,” Thomas mumbles into the pillow.

It’s quiet for awhile, so long Thomas reluctantly pulls his head up, looks over. Anton’s looking back at him.

“I know,” Anton says. “Here.”

He tosses the phone Thomas’ way, and Thomas lazily catches it. Anton’s still looking at him like he’s trying to figure something out.

“I’m wiped,” Thomas says. “I’m going to go to bed.”

“Okay,” Anton says, and when Thomas is finished brushing his teeth and changing in the bathroom, the light’s out. 

Thomas lies in the dark, motionless, heart thumping in his chest for no reason he can figure out. It’s quiet from Anton’s side of the room.

“Night Tony,” Thomas finally says.

Anton’s quiet so long Thomas is half asleep before he gets a “Night Vinny,” in return.

**Author's Note:**

> Fournier refers to his back-up goalie as a pomme de terre (potato) which I have been informed is an ableist slur in English referring to people with Down's Syndrome. He isn't using it in that context, but I will warn nonetheless.


End file.
